All the Salt in the Sea
by Hi-Vi
Summary: Wolfstar . Set against the backdrop of the great stone walls of Hogwarts and the drama of their seventh year, Sirius and Remus are forced to question everything they thought they knew about themselves . But when push comes to shove, will they be able to save the one person who brought them together in the first place?
1. Chapter One: Sirius

Chapter One

Sirius

...

**A/N: First chapter. This is about twice as long as the other chapters, so don't be put off by the length of this one. Hope everyone enjoys :)**

...

The first day of term, I missed the Hogwarts Express because I was busy killing my brother.

It started in the morning, when he had the bathroom on the third floor, and I wanted the bathroom on the third floor, and he wouldn't let me have it. So I blasted the door off its hinges because I was seventeen and I could do whatever the hell I wanted with my wand, no euphemisms intended.

Regulus yelped, and I ducked to watch him through the splintery hole in the door as he staggered backwards, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, eyes rolling in his head.

"I'll get you, you little bastard," he spat through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Watch your language, kid."

"You'd better watch your head." He picked up a piece of the bath, aimed it at me. I flicked it away with my wand, and sent it sailing into a long framed portrait of great-grandfather someone-or-other. It split the canvas with a pleasant tearing sound.

"You're in for it now" hissed Regulus, stepping towards me. "When Mother finds out that you sliced up…"

"I think I was in for it from the moment I exploded the bathroom" I pointed out reasonably.

Regulus eyed me intently through the gaping door. One black eyebrow was raised, his hair like mine only shorter; black like our name and as messy as the path of blood our family trails behind it. One year younger, shorter, less good looking (of course). Slytherin. How awful.

"Mother!" He lurched forward, ducked through the gap and shouldered past me, heading for the stairs.

I let him go. While he hurried up to the top floor where mother rested in her dark bedroom, no doubt waiting for one of us to appear and explain the latest damage to the Noble House of Black, I went into the bathroom, squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush, and wished to god that I had an ensuite. There were enough bathrooms in the house for someone to move one around and stick it on the end of my room, and it was a mystery as to why no one had done that yet. I put it on my to-do list for over Christmas. If I could be bothered to come back.

Mother arrived exactly one and a half minutes later. She was still in her nightdress, long maroon dressing gown pulled tight over her hips, face waxen and stiff. Her lips formed one straight line, and they barely parted as she addressed me in her clipped, almost inaudible voice.

"What is going on?"

I spat into the cracked sink. "Regulus was taking too long in the bathroom," I explained.

"I want this put right, Sirius."

I'd heard it said that mother spoke quietly only so that the people she was addressing would have to listen extra carefully, which was certainly a good observation. Even I felt myself stepping closer to her, away from the sink, just to make sure I didn't miss anything important.

"Fine then," I said.

She didn't blink. "You have ten minutes. Farrow will leave in the car at that time, taking your brother with him, and you will not go to Hogwarts this year."

I stared at her.

"I am not joking," she continued. "If you think you can get away with this, you're wrong. I think you've forgotten, Sirius, that you're not in the sordid company of your little Gryffindor friends here. You're at the house of your ancestors, and your behaviour this summer has been completely unacceptable. If you miss the car, you're not going to Hogwarts this year. I have connections, you know I'll make it happen."

With that, she turned sharply, and left through the open door, stepping over the shards of the bath with long, pale, blue-veined feet.

After she'd gone, I surveyed the mess of the bathroom; the chunks of porcelain like huge icebergs, the cracked mirror, the white dust still settling over everything. Regulus poked his head round the door, smirking.

"You've done it now," he said.

"Piss off," I said, flicking my wand and sending the part of the door that was left slamming back into his face. He backed off with a muffled "oomph."

I missed the car, anyway. So there was no point in even trying to tidy the bathroom. I stood on the empty road next to my bags, and when I turned back to the front door, I found myself locked out, and no matter how hard I blasted it and how loud I yelled, no body came. That was always the story, in my family.

Luckily, I'm a Black, and Blacks always find a way. Well, sometimes they just find the Knight Bus, but it's the same thing, really.

So not the best start to the year. But, I figured, it was best to set the bar low; at least then I'd have something to improve on. I was three hours late for school, I'd broken the house and disgraced my family. But things couldn't get worse from here on in, could they? I couldn't wait to find out.

…

I arrived at Hogwarts three hours late. Some old lady on the bus needed to stop off at Germany. They dropped me off at the gates and I walked all the way up the drive, levitating my trunk ahead of me. It was fully dark now, and the night smelt like smoke, and the sharp, cold pinch which comes in early autumn. A waning moon was coming up above the trees. It would be old Moony's time of the month soon, and my stomach leapt at the thought. Oh, to be running through the woods again with my three best friends, the trees creaking above us and James snorting sweetly in my ear. I spent most of the summer with James and Peter at James's house, lying around in the garden and getting an awful sunburn, but I hadn't seen Remus for about a million years. Which sucked. I decided to creep into his bed when he was half asleep that night and thinking I wasn't going to turn up, just to give him a little surprise. Again, not a euphemism.

I walked across the empty courtyard, coughing loudly to break that weird silence that falls over the school when there are no kids about, and it's night, and then I pushed open the door and headed upstairs to the Gryffindor common room. There was no one about. The feast was over and the corridors were dark, filled with echoes and pale light from the moon outside. My trunk scraped along the floor every time my concentration lagged, making a long, loud scraping sound on the stone tiles, like someone was following me with a wooden leg.

I heard the kids before I saw them. The hum of male voices coming from round the corner, the words impossible to make out but the tone unmistakable. They were in my line of sight within a moment, standing in front of the Gryffindor portrait hole, their wands raised and illuminated, speaking in furious whispers, scuffling against something. Someone. I stepped closer.

The kids, there were four of them, were vaguely familiar, and I realised with a nebulous sense of disgust that they were fifth year Gryffindors, and they were beating the hell out of a eleven-year-old. Well, in reality, they were only knocking him about a bit, but it wasn't great, because the kid was crying, and his stuff was scattered all over the floor.

It wasn't even like turning round and pretending I hadn't seen was an option, because that's just not what I do. Instead, I decided to exercise a bit of my new-found seventh year power, and remove these hooligans from the poor youth.

"What are you doing with the kid?" I said, striding forward with my arms folded across my chest. The tallest of them was a good half-head smaller than me, which felt alright. As soon as they heard me speak, the boys leapt to attention like someone had licked them with a whip, wands raised in front of their faces, mouths curled into threatening little sneers. Seriously adorable.

"What does is look like?" the tallest one hissed. Tall kid was obviously the ring leader, and when he spoke, a ripple of mirth spread through the group. I couldn't quite make out his face in the darkness, but I knew he'd know me; I wasn't exactly the sort of person who you might overlook. I let my trunk come to rest on the ground next to me, and let my wand arm hang casually at my side, loose and ready to move. Inwardly, I grinned. This was just too good.

"It looks to me like you're beating up a nine-year-old, but whatever" I replied, shrugging. Tall kid narrowed his eyes.

"He's not bloody nine you idiot. He couldn't be at this school if he was bloody nine."

"That's pretty good" I said, casually flicking a spot of dust from the sleeve of my black-and-white stripped jacket. "I'm kind of astounded it came from _your_ brain. Now let him go, and I'll forget this ever happened."

All trace of a grin had dropped from the faces of tall kid and his crew. The shadows under their eyes and their noses glared in the wandlight, their teeth black in the gaping holes of their mouths. The corridor was heavy with darkness, and I vaguely wondered how I would get into the common room tonight, if I didn't know the password. I supposed I'd have to contact James through some form of telekinesis. Or maybe just throw stones at his window. Tall kid's grip still hadn't loosened on the boy's collar.

"Why is it even your problem? And what's with all the sarcasm?" His voice dropped a little lower as he said this, and I could see his fingers twitch a little at his side. But he didn't want to make a move on me until he really has to; that much was obvious. Although it was about four-to-one, age-based hierarchy would still win out. It's like with a wolf-pack; the Alpha wolves are generally the elders. When you're an Alpha wolf, you're allowed to bite the babies and bury them in the snow, but no one does that to _you_. Age brings with it a sort of sacred preservation and innate respect, which hovers around you no matter how sharp your wit, or brave your will. Even Remus would stand a chance against these thugs.

"I'm not sarcastic" I replied. Leaning against the wall, I twirled a lock of hair idly around my finger. "This is just my body's natural way of dealing with your stupidity."

I could tell I'd done it with that one. Tall kid dropped the boy, who stumbled a little and then bolted down the corridor to safety, and he then began to advance on me, as did his little group of idiots who closed together to form a tight-shouldered semi-circle.

Now, I don't mind admitting that I wasn't really one for physical fights. I'd go for a verbal one at any time, because I knew I'd invariably win it, but I'd never really fancied a black-eye or a split lip, or a tentacle growing out of my head. So I would usually take what some might call "the coward's way out," but what I called "being damn smart." In this case, it was certainly very, _very _damn smart. One of my best in a long time, I would have said. Taking a deep lungful of air, I gathered one last gloating look at the boys' furious little faces. Before driving my arm backwards with full-force into a suit of armour, which was standing conveniently behind me against the wall.

There are very few personal problems which cannot be solved by the suitable application of loud noise and chaos. The boys had dispersed in seconds, panicked and flapping like a flock of geese, and I was left alone in the corridor with the armour still spinning and clanging around me, the sound of it echoing around the corridor. I took some time out to enjoy my handiwork, trying to decide whether it was one of those things which is good enough to tell people about, or whether the trouble I'd invariably get into eclipsed the pride of the achievement. It took me less than a second to decide upon the latter, and then it took me another half second to realise that in that case, I should really be moving before I was found, marinating in my own guilt, by the offending suit of armour. The Gryffindor common room was already beginning to stir; I could feel it even though I couldn't hear it yet. Soon, bleary-eyed teenagers would begin to spill out of the portrait hole, and, even more worryingly, teachers would appear around corners and from cracks in the walls. So I turned, ran a few steps, and crashed headfirst into a boy.

Seventh year, medium height, oversized jumper, small shoulders. Weird fringe. Obviously new, because if he wasn't I would have remembered his face. And right then, it looked as though he'd seen everything. He was staring at me with one eyebrow raised, his head cocked on one side, his grey eyes made bright by the wandlight assessing me coolly.

I considered my options. My best bet in situations like these is often to charm myself out of it, but I had perhaps two and a half more seconds before I was discovered. All the same, I figured, it was worth a shot.

"Well hi there. I'm Sirius Black; I don't think we've ever met. Now listen, what you've just witnessed here may look bad, but in all honesty, I…"

He didn't give me time to finish. I hate it when people do that. But in reality, I suppose it was a good thing, because up in the common room, doors were opening, people were coming, and footsteps were resounding loudly down a nearby corridor. And it was also a good thing, because from the moment that Kit Conrad grabbed my hand and whisper-yelled _'run'_ in my ear, I knew that he was on my side. And I might not have got that otherwise.

…

So the Gryffindors didn't get much sleep that night, which no one found very fun.

It _was_ pretty fun though; after waiting a few minutes with Kit in a broom cupboard three corridors down, I reappeared and joined the rest of the Gryffindor throng which had congregated around the fallen suit of armour, oohed, ahhed and speculated earnestly for a bit, and when Professor McGoogly turned up, I slipped through the open portrait hole and laughed with James and Peter for at least half an hour, while Remus lay with his head under a pillow, all bunched up under his blanket. As for Kit, he disappeared off to his own corridor after explaining to me that he was in a different house. I took it for granted that he'd be a Ravenclaw; first impressions had been a little hasty, but he seemed like the quiet, brooding type; not fluffy enough to be in Hufflepuff and not evil enough to be in Slytherin. So it was with some surprise when I saw him at breakfast the following morning, seated on the table on the far left of the Great Hall, wearing a green and silver striped tie.

"You're in _Slytherin_?" I asked incredulously as we stood together outside the potions room. He'd left early from breakfast, and I had followed him. Consequently, I discovered we were both in the same potions class, and also what it was like to be on time for a lesson. "_You?_ In Slytherin?"

Kit nodded, his mouth twitching slightly. "Why? Where'd you think I'd be?"

"I don't know, like, somewhere not crappy? A nice respectable Ravenclaw? Or a cuddly Hufflepuff?"

He clacked his teeth at me in a brief smile. "I'm certainly not cuddly. And I'm not sure about respectable, either."

"My brother's in Slytherin." I kicked behind me at the wall I was leaning on. "Do you know Regulus Black? In sixth year?"

"Yes, actually. I've seen him."

"Okay. Well, stay away from him. And his girlfriend, Margo, she's no good. And Walter and Sammy and Peggo… Bastian too. I can make you a list, if you want?"

Kit declined with a polite flicker of his eyes. We stood in silence for a while, both of us thinking.

"Last night was good though," I said finally. "Thanks for that."

"No problem," Kit replied.

"So where did you come from all of a sudden? I mean, not last night, but in general. I've never seen you before."

"Me and my family moved here from Australia. Charlie got a job in England and we just had to go."

"Who's Charlie?"

"My adopted dad."

"Oh. So you're adopted then." It was one of those things which Remus would smack me round the head for, saying I was being tactless, but I was only setting the record straight. You needed too, with those Slytherins.

"Yeah." He didn't look away.

"Alright then. And why don't you have an Australian accent?"

"Because I lived in England until I was nine. Then I moved to Australia. Now I'm back."

"I see." I stroked my beard. Well, my almost-beard.

Kit grinned tentatively. "You're a nosy bastard, if you don't mind me saying," he said.

"I don't mind at all," I replied amicably.

The rest of the class arrived gradually, and I listened with vague amusement to the various mutterings about the mysterious goings-on outside the Gryffindor common room the previous night. Unfortunately, Remus didn't share my enthusiasm for the deed. He was the sort of person who seemed to like going to lessons, and he said he was mad because I made him too tired to concentrate. He said he knew it was me, even before I'd told him, James and Peter back in the dormitory.

"How could you tell?" I wined, pawing at his shoulder. He tossed a lock of red-brown hair off his forehead and narrowed his eyes.

"Because you were doing that face which means you've done something bad. The one that makes you look like you're some kind of nodding dog in the back window of a muggle car."

"I was going more for wise old sage…"

"Well, you didn't pull it off."

Remus and I argued most days, but that was why he was such good fun. I grinned, and nudged Kit. We were sitting in potions on a desk at the back, with a cauldron between us and the instructions for a fire-belly draught we were meant to be brewing. Normally it was just me and Remus - James and Peter didn't do Potions – but today, I'd let Kit join us, just to show him a bit of Gryffindor chivalry. Anyway, he might bring some extra talent to the table. Not that we were getting much work done. Remus was too busy being angry.

"I can't believe you Sirius" he said. He was pressed right up against his chair like he was somehow accentuating his point by being extra straight. His arms were crossed and his teeth flashed every now and then from under his taught lips. "It's the first day of school, and already you've knocked over everything and caused absolute chaos." I shushed him quickly, and attempted to smother him with my hand. Remus was having none of it. He shoved me back and I land painfully on my coccyx.

"So you're a bit tired. I don't get what's so bad about that" I said, rubbing my butt dolefully.

"I wanted to make a good start. Because, in case you hadn't noticed, there are some of us around who actually _want _to get good NEWT results this year. Just because you're not one of them, it doesn't mean you're allowed to disadvantage others."

Kit had been watching the exchange with quiet amused eyes which flickered from my face to his like he was watching a tennis match. He had been like that all lesson; watching everyone and taking it all in, as if he was trying to store up enough information in his database before he figured out how he was going to play it. He was like a burnished shell you could find down at the beach, all closed up but temptingly so; like the sort of closed up where you want to shove a penknife in him and prise him open. He spoke now though, in a low, static voice which I had to strain to hear over the noise of the classroom.

"But if you think Remus," he said, "he saved a little kid. Sure, it kind of wasn't the best way of handling things, but it was all for the greater good." Remus sort of shrank a bit when he rememberd he was there. He didn't like to look angry in front of strangers.

"Still" he continued a little more restrainedly "Sirius could have resolved it in another way. For one thing, he could have got a teacher."

Kit and I exchanged glances. We both knew what that meant.

I let Remus finish. He has this thing where he thinks he's right a lot of the time, and the best thing to do in those situations is to just let him get it out of his system. I didn't stop thinking about Kit all through the rest of the lesson, and then after lessons had finished whilst doing my homework, and eating my dinner and brushing my teeth. He was different; different and interesting. I couldn't quite pinpoint it at the time, but there was something about Kit - something which told me that this year was going to be very interesting indeed.


	2. Chapter Two: Remus

Chapter Two

Remus

"Honestly, he's mental." Sirius sat draped over his bed, facing James and Peter with his chin in his hands. I could only see the back of his head, dark hair bobbing with every word, but I could picture his pointy grin and his dark flashing eyes. James was chortling lazily and Peter was nodding, expression all attention, all interest. You couldn't fail to be interested when Sirius spoke. Even I was listening, continually raising my eyes a fraction from the page, only to bring them back down again, to read the same sentence for the fifth time over.

"He looks pretty quiet to me," observed James.

"He is. But he has a wicked streak."

"Slytherin," said Peter simply, and James smiled wryly and raised his eyebrows at his friend.

"Got it in one, Pete. And what do you have to say about that, eh Pads?"

Sirius shrugged. "So? Not all Slytherins are bad."

"Those weren't your sentiments last week when you were dropping dungbombs onto a couple of sixth years."

"Hey man, they deserved it."

"Why?"

"They had…" Sirius paused to think. I watched him silently from my bed, imagined him touching his nose absentmindedly with a little finger. "They had funny walks," he decided on adamantly, folding his arms as if to say, _there, that's that then. _Rule #1 in the dormitory; what Sirius says, goes.

"Anyway," he continued. "Kit is my partner in crime now. So you bods had better be nice to him. That includes you too Moony." He glanced over at me, and I swiftly returned my eyes to my book, acknowledging him with a mere raise of my eyebrows. I heard him laugh, and then felt his weight sink next to me on the bed.

…

What nicer thing to do on a Saturday morning than visit the library? Sirius might call me wimp, wuss, cream-puff, or any other imaginative variation of the word sissy, but nothing would stop me from going there. Recently however, a small gang of third year Hufflepuffs had taken up residence of the window where I usually sat, and seeing as it was the best seat in the whole entire library, I had been rather disgruntled. They were loud, rambunctious, immature and inattentive. They were clean, helpful and friendly. They all had girlfriends whose hands they were too afraid to hold, and they played games that were thinly veiled variations of the ones they played in first and second years, only modified to be more 'mature.' They were adorable. I disliked them with a passion.

They'd gotten to know me recently, and referred to me joyfully as "Rem-Rem," "Rem-dog," or even worse, "Remington III." I wasn't sure where the 'third' bit came from. What I was third _of,_ I had no idea. It only served to make me more suspicious. They were there today, all bundled into my window seat. When they saw me, they gave me a delighted wave, which I ignored, sitting down at a table a good distance away. I was halfway through 'The Grapes of Wrath,' but I couldn't bring myself to concentrate. I was thinking about the Sirius.

Sirius was weird. Everyone knew that. He was annoying, over-confident, over-exited, over-exuberant; basically 'over' everything. Pick an adjective and add 'over,' and you had him in one. He was the sort of person who transfigured cups of tea into toadstools, climbed out of seventh-story windows just to show off, stood up on his broom during important games of Quidditch, fell off and broke an arm, professed his love for several different girls twenty times a day. He never folded his clothes, he wouldn't read books, he wore eyeliner and denied it, he sat on James' face, he sat on Peter's face, he sat on my face… he _licked_ people. He had no respect for personal space or personal hygiene, and he took the expression 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine' _far_ too literally.

He was also too friendly for his own good. In reality, Kit was probably just a delicate, funny, cagey little guy who had caught Sirius's fancy; a new specimen for his collection of waifs and strays. Sirius would fawn over him for a few months; probing at him and playing with him and thinking he was in love until one day he got bored, and let him drop again. But a few months could be all it takes for him to get too close.

James and Sirius thought I was paranoid. I knew they did, because I'd come across notes about it during one of my routine searches of their bedside drawers. I wasn't paranoid; I was just careful. They didn't understand, because the consequences were less dire for them. At most, they'd get a few detentions and maybe an exclusion for being unregistered animagi; but being discovered as a werewolf meant far worse. I wasn't paranoid; I was just watching out for myself. And a strange, unknown Slytherin in our midst could only mean trouble.

"Hey Remus."

I started, dropped my book. Kit was standing above me, hands in the pockets of his jeans, as if the very act of thinking of him had somehow summoned him from the bowels of the Slytherin common rooms. He was looking rather ruffled, but, I realised after a few seconds, pleased to see me. Or some other variation of that emotion.

"Hi, Kit," I said shortly. "What are you doing up here?"

"I'm looking for a book for potions. I want to see if I can brew a recitation draught."

I eyed him suspiciously. "What does a recitation draught do?" I asked reluctantly, after a while.

Kit took this as an invitation to sit down. "It makes the person who takes it recite poetry."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I just thought it would be funny."

It sounded so much like something Sirius would say, but it came from the mouth of someone with quieter eyes, and a mouth which didn't smile. I was too taken aback to reply.

"What are you reading?" he asked. I hesitated, and then slid the book across the table towards him. He picked it up with clumsy hands, pinching the corners with between thumbs and forefinger; a gesture which I recognised as typical of one who didn't read much. At least he didn't throw it, or try to eat it, as I had seen Sirius do on numerous occasions.

"It's about America in the depression," I explained.

Kit nodded briefly. "So it's a muggle book?"

"Yes" I said warily. I wasn't in the mood for any pureblood horseshit right now, and I tried to make that clear through my tone. But Kit said nothing. Instead, he turned it over, and began to read the back cover.

"It looks good." He handed it back. "I'm afraid I don't really read much."

His tone was apologetic, I realised. His fingers arched self-consciously on the table in front of him.

"It's okay," I found myself saying. "Neither does Sirius."

There was a pause, where I listened to the clock's loud heartbeat and Kit tugged at his sleeves.

"I guess we didn't get off to a good start last week," said Kit eventually.

"It wasn't you" I started, "it was more Sirius. He's just so exasperating sometimes. He's completely impulsive and irresponsible and he never thinks about other people…" I took a deep breath to stop myself, and placed the back of my hand to one burning cheek.

"But I wasn't entirely blameless regarding the suit of armour incident. I'm sorry I made you tired that day," he said

"That's okay. I didn't really… I didn't really mind. Not as much as I said I did…"

"Well, I'm sorry anyway. And I know what you mean about Sirius. From what I've seen of him, I've kind of gathered that he can be of a handful at times." He paused, and smiled again.

I snorted. Sirius was more like two handfuls. He was almost three.

"Which is why we need you around" Kit continued, holding my gaze, his eyes level and calm. "We need you to keep us in check. I want to make a good impression at this school, so I'll probably need to attach myself to at least one person who won't raise hell on their first day here."

It occurred to me all of a sudden how harmless he looked. He was wearing a floppy jumper with sleeves which went right over his hands, and he had an unexpected sort of grin and soft grey eyes. Suddenly I found myself wondering how on earth I ever found him threatening in at all. I pushed some hair off my face, and gave him a slow, reluctant smile.

"Alright then. Fresh start?"

Kit took my hand across the table and shook it; his fingers were as cool and dry as autumn leaves. "Fresh start," he agreed, nodding seriously.


	3. Chapter Three: Sirius

Chapter Three

Sirius

It was a brilliant idea.

"It's an idea," said Remus, chewing on his bottom lip. "Whether it's brilliant is up for debate. I, for instance…"

I cut him off with raised palm. "It's brilliant. There is no doubt about it."

"Brilliant," agreed James.

"Undoubtedly."

"Who could think otherwise?"

"Peter?"

"Oh, yes. Brilliant."

"There you have it then." I turned to Remus, shrugging apologetically. Remus looked slightly perplexed, and then sighed in resignation.

"Fine. Do it. But you'll be in so much…"

"So chaps, what's the plan?"

The plan was, in a nutshell, to bewitch the trees by the edge of the lake to insult and pelt various debris at those unfortunate enough to be sitting underneath them. James and I had come up with all sorts of witty, hilarious and subtle things for them to say in a particularly productive charms lesson: featuring gems such as, "the smartest thing that ever came out of your mouth was a penis" or, "I hope you get herpes." All we needed now was someone to climb the trees and do the charm. Peter was prime candidate, because Remus was scared of heights, James and his many long limbs got tangled on the first branch, and I'm simply too beautiful to sacrifice.

Peter surveyed the towering branches with a critical eye. "It looks rather…"

"Terrifying?" James suggested helpfully.

"Fatal?" I added.

"Yes…" Peter agreed thoughtfully.

"Come on, we'll give you a boost." James and I cupped our hands together, and made steps for Peter's feet, swinging up to the first branch. His face peered down at us from the foliage, looking pale and owlish.

"James, I'm not sure about this. I think something's living up here." He was answered only by a low snarl, and a rustling of branches further up the tree. James adjusted his glasses, and waved the comment away.

"Oh, it's just a bird."

"A bird which growls," muttered Peter, but he disappeared again anyway, and in a minute, he appeared a little higher up, clutching a branch in a death grip and inching forward to reach the next one.

Remus was worrying his lip, his eyes trained on Peter in the tree. "I'm not so sure about this," he said. James and I each slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Chill out mate."

"Peter won't fall."

"And if he does, I have an air pump in my room so we can re-inflate him, just like new."

Remus looked from one of us to the other and opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to remonstrate us in his dulcet tones, but he was interrupted by a shout from Peter.

"Am I high enough, mates?"

He had reached a height of around ten metres, and was clinging like a small fat limpet to the trunk.

"Okay Pete, say the charm," I called up.

"What was it again?" he asked, a slight hitch in his voice.

I told him. The chances that he'd succeed the first time were rather minimal, I had to admit, but he might get there after a couple of tries.

"Right, done it. Coming down now."

"Not so fast," replied James. "We have to test it out first. Moony?"

"What?" said Remus suspiciously, already backing away.

"Would you be so kind?"

Moony, selfish old bastard, wouldn't be so kind as to do a favour for a couple of pals, so we helped him do the right thing by forcing him bodily underneath the tree and onto his arse. After a few tense moments, the tree acknowledged his presence with a murmuring, creaking, primeval whisper, which smelled like mouldering pinecones and sounded like it came from the very centre of the ancient earth, but was undoubtedly the word "shitbag."

"Well." James sucked air through his teeth. "It's a start, I suppose."

He was answered by a low moan from within the branches of the tree. "You mean I have to do it again?"

"Sorry mate," I said, not feeling sorry in the slightest.

"Fine," Peter said, plainly reluctant, and shifted backwards on his branch, let go with one hand to raise his wand.

At that moment, I glanced towards the castle, just by chance, and caught sight of a small, familiar figure approaching the lake from the grassy hill that led down to it. He had an uneven, shuffling gait, and wore a jumper which was too big for him. As he got nearer, I could make out a Slytherin scarf wound about his neck.

"Kit!" I called out, waving frantically. James glanced at me and then questioningly at Remus, and I reassured him with a look that said it was okay; he was safe. James frowned, but it _was_ okay. Kit _was_ safe. I knew it, so it must be true. I waved at Kit again, and watched him imperceptibly change his direction, even though he never waved or sped up.

"Come over!" I called, "we're doing something top-secret and painfully clever."

"Painful's about right," I heard Remus mutter, but I turned to see him smiling reluctantly. He had warmed to Kit recently, and often said that he was his only dose of sanity he got, which was probably true but no less offensive. I couldn't help it if I just happened to be over-exuberant. Over-excitable. Over-awesome.

"Don't invite him over you git," hissed James, gripping my arm. "He might be alright, but he's still a fucking _Slytherin._ And don't forget," he added as an afterthought, "most of these insults are _personalised_ for Slytherins. He won't like what he hears when he gets here."

"When who gets here?" called Peter. "What's going on?"

I ignored him. "The best the tree's got is 'shitbag,' so I think Kit will be safe."

"He's alright, James," said Remus. I fistbumped him.

"What's happening?" called Peter.

"Come on Kit."

"What's going on?"

"I don't think he should come over."

"You'll like him when you get to…"

"What are you doing down there?"

"He's a Slytherin!"

There was an almighty crack, followed by a shriek which could have come from either the tree or Peter, and then several more crashes and cracks as Peter fell from his branch and through subsequent others, landing finally with a great thump on the earth. He actually bounced. Remus denied it afterwards, but he did. He hit the floor, bounced upwards in a cloud of dust, and then came to rest again, lay unmoving on the earth.

"Shit."

"Oh god."

We all fell to our knees around him, heads bent together. There was no blood. There were no bits at funny angles. But his eyes were closed and…

"He's not breathing," moaned James. "Oh god. This will go down as manslaughter. I'm too young to go to Azkaban."

"You know what they do to guys like us in prison." I covered my face with my hands. It was too traumatising to look at the dead body of my friend. I would be messed up for life. I'd have to move to Finland and live in a cabin and eat beetles and never look at the face of another human being again. James threw his arms around me and buried his face in my shoulder.

"Calm down," muttered Remus, pushing us both aside. "He's breathing. Just listen."

Now that he mentioned it, he was.

Kit appeared, breathless, at my shoulder. "I saw what happened. Is he okay?"

"He'll never be okay," I cried to the heavens.

"He's just unconscious. He'll be fine," intoned Remus.

"Remus, I thought you ought to know…"

"Oh my life! It's ruined!"

"Remus, I had to run because I needed to warn you…"

"Our darling Peter…"

"Professor McGonagall…"

"Lost to us!"

"Shut up Sirius!"

I glanced up at Kit in surprise. He never raised his voice. He fixed me with an unfathomable stare. "I was going to say, before you started lamenting, that Professor McGonagall was coming. Only, I don't need to now, because she's…"

"Standing right behind you."

We all froze. "Is there any chance that you're Frank Longbottom, just putting on a Scottish accent to fool us?" I asked hopefully. "You know, a funny joke? Good prank? Ha ha?"

"Up. All three of you." James and I stood reluctantly, as did Remus, and I turned to smile sheepishly at McGoogly, who was standing with her lips pursed and her arms folded. If looks could kill… well, we'd all be deader than Peter. We _were _deader than Peter.


	4. Chapter Four: Remus

Chapter Four

Remus

…

**AN: Hey everyone! Just a quick message to say thank you to everyone who's stuck with me this far in. Any comments or feedback, I'd love to hear from you (and yes, that was me subtly hinting for reviews ;) ). Anyway, I'll just give you a quick idea of what's going to be happening; basically, this is a multi-chapter fic which will be split equally between Remus and Sirius PoV. I'd love to know what everyone thinks of my Kit, because I know that opinions are divided over OCs. Once again, thanks guys! Reviews always welcome ;)**

…

We sat in a line on three separate chairs; Sirius in the middle and James on the other end. I was staring intently at my trousers – grey, with a rather fascinating twill weave, if anyone's interested – and I didn't want to look up. I knew what I'd see if I did; McGonagall's office, without the comforting reassurances of careers advice pamphlets on the desk, or a particularly commendable piece of work under a paperweight; no, I was in here this time because I was in trouble, and it wasn't even my fault.

I knew this would happen.

Apparently, James and Sirius weren't quite as concerned as I was. Now that they'd discovered that Peter wasn't dead/dying/potentially returning to haunt them, they had perked up considerably, and they were currently poking each other in the ribs and giggling into the other's hair.

"Hey James, Jamesy, I dare you to move that pencil in McGoogle's desk."

"Shall I? Oh, shall I?"

"No," I hissed, shooting him a glance out of his eye.

"Lighten _up_ Moony," sighed Sirius. He shot out an elbow, catching me in the chest. "Oops, sorry. You know, this is all a bit of fun. You just sit tight and wait for me to turn on the old charm."

I groaned. "Oh god, please don't." I knew Sirius's charm, and as far as I could see, nothing good had ever come out of it. It had already caused several broom accidents, countless upset stomachs and one particularly nasty incident with spellotape and a folding chair, and I dreaded to think what damage it could cause in McGonagall's small neat office, stocked rather unhelpfully with many, many glass ornaments. This couldn't end well.

The door swung open with a smart creak, and McGonagall's footsteps rapped across the floor. The woman herself came to a halt behind her desk, and regarded us with pursed lips. Sirius opened his mouth, his face lit by an utterly joyful expression which juxtaposed the entire situation in a particularly grotesque, hideous way.

"Professor, there's…"

But McGonagall stopped him a contemptuous flick of her fingers. "That will be all, Mr Black."

Sirius smiled affably. "Oh, well if we're all done here…" he and James made to rise.

"That is _not _what I meant. Mr Black, Mr Potter, will you please _sit back down._"

Sirius and James complied sullenly.

McGonagall, seemingly sensing that James and Sirius were prepared to be quiet for at least a short while, took a seat herself. "Now boys," she began. "I'm going to do this slightly differently. I don't want a word from any of you, not a _word, _until I've heard the full story."

"But how can we…"

"That was a word, Mr Potter. In fact, it was four." She glanced swiftly over our heads, and beckoned to a figure in the still open doorway. "Mr Conrad, come in, if you please. Shut the door behind you."

My head jerked upwards. I watched Kit walk past me, and go to stand at the window. He studiously avoided our glances, focusing instead on twisting his sleeves round and round over his hands, his eyelashes flickering. James shifted in his seat next to me, and I turned to see him shoot a quick accusatory look at Sirius and then me. Really, he was probably right in his suspicions. No matter how funny, interesting or entertaining they are, a Slytherin with the opportunity to get you into trouble is never good news. Even Sirius was looking uncomfortable, ignoring James and trying to catch Kit's attention with what I assumed was telepathy, or else a series of frantic glances, and becoming all the more agitated when he was ignored. As for me; well, I was glad that Sirius and James couldn't cause any trouble, but even so, I was worried. I had a clean sheet, and I couldn't afford for that to change.

"Mr Conrad, if you please. Your version of events."

We all sat in silence, eyes wide and trained on Kit. James opened his mouth, but he was quieted by a glance from McGonagall. We waited, every ear in the room tuned into what Kit would say next.

There was a brief silence. Then Kit looked up, and it happened.

Looking back, it felt almost as if a light had been turned on. That was what it was like. Like when Kit's eyes met Professor McGonagall's, everything else fell away and there was just harsh, bald, terrifying light; like an interrogation room. Professor McGonagall blinked, and that was when I knew she didn't stand a chance.

"I didn't see too much, actually. But, I assume," he turned to Sirius, "that it was the thing you were talking to me about yesterday? In potions?"

Sirius, dazed, nodded vaguely. "Um… yeah?"

Kit readdressed Professor McGonagall. "Basically, Peter really wanted this fungus, for Herbology. I think it must only grow in that tree. Anyway, they were planning to climb up and get some."

She squinted at him for a minute. "What kind of fungus?" she asked finally.

"I think…" Kit pursed his lips. We all waited. "I think it was a porcelain fungus. Is that right?" Once again, he turned to Sirius. "Is that right?"

Again, Sirius nodded, looking vaguely as if he'd lost something, found it again, but it wasn't quite the thing he'd been looking for. "Yes, that's right," he said faintly.

"He was up the tree," repeated Professor McGonagall, "looking for fungus? For Herbology? Peter?"

Sirius, regaining some composure, laughed a little. "Well, you know Peter. Herbology's the only things he's good at."

There was a tense, taught, silence as we all waited. I looked, breath hitching in my throat, from Sirius, to James, to McGonagall, to Kit. It was all down to who would make the first move. It was a game.

Finally, Professor McGonagall sighed. She massaged her temple with her hands. "Well. I suppose that's all I'm going to get out of you. Very well, you may go. But remember," she continued, fixing us with a severe stare, "Peter was very lucky to emerge from that with no serious injuries. Next time he wants some fungus, you tell him to go and ask Professor Woodbine rather than gallivanting about the grounds falling out of trees."

…

It was a success. We'd escaped alive. And Kit had proved to us exactly _why_ he was in Slytherin, without actually getting us in trouble. Sirius was ecstatic.

"Where did you learn to _lie_ like that mate?" he asked repeatedly, clinging to Kit's arm with his chin resting on his shoulder. Kit carried on walking, slightly lopsided from the weight of Sirius, but smiling faintly.

I spent a lot of time pondering over that exact question, wondering whether or not Kit had proved his loyalty to us, or had given us a concrete reason to mistrust him. A week later, everything came out when some third years were insulted by the tree, but again, Kit emerged with a clean sheet and a conspicuous lack of detentions. As I polished the trophies in the trophy case each Friday evening, I thought about this. I thought and I thought.

October arrived, and Sirius became enamoured with Kit's foster sister, Summer. Both she and Max, Kit's foster brother, had ended up in Gryffindor, and Sirius had wasted little time befriending both of them. Max was a sweet, excited, sociable eleven year old, with blonde hair and bright eyes, who hero-worshipped Sirius already and casually wore sunglasses around the common room, even though the weather had taken a turn for the worse and a grey mist curled perpetually round the castle. Summer was something else. Even I had to admit that. She was fifteen years old, with fox-pelt eyes and an air of knowing she was beautiful, delightful etc, but not wanting to make a big deal about it. She remained impervious to Sirius's wiles and charms, until one day she fell into his arms with surprising ease, much to Sirius's delight and James's annoyance.

"Why do you get the girl you're after in about ten days, when I've been after Lily for years and she's never once looked my way?"

"She looks your way when she's hexing you," Peter pointed out reasonably.

James sighed deeply, staring at the canopy above his head. Sirius joined him on his bed, crawling to straddle his stomach, and grinning wickedly.

"What can I say? You just don't have the old Sirius charm."

James grimaced, and shrugged him off. "You don't have charm. You just have…" James eyed him critically.

"Raw sex appeal?" Sirius suggested helpfully.

"Well, there won't be any sex here, seeing as she's underage," I said.

"Ha," said James. "Ha, ha, ha. No sex for you, my friend."

Sirius sniffed. "James, I pity you. Not everything is all about _sex,_ you know."

"Shall we tell Lily that's what he thinks?" I asked Sirius. Sirius bared his teeth at me, his smile comfortingly canine.

"Why Moony, you sly devil. Come on then, let's do it."

He jumped off the bed, but was brought to the floor a moment later by a magnificent rugby tackle from James.

Things were certainly changing. Sirius remained unconditionally close to Kit, abandoning all prejudices towards Slytherins in an exclusive show of loyalty towards the strange, small, dreamy boy. Kit certainly was strange. He was an unquantified value. He was also a practiced, smooth, remorseless liar. But that didn't keep me away from him; if anything, it only made me more curious.


	5. Chapter Five: Sirius

Chapter Five

Sirius

…

"Look Moony, look Moony, look, look, look."

With a sharp metallic clang, Remus set the trophy he was polishing down on the top of the cabinet, and glared at me. "What is it?"

"Look at what I can do. Are you watching? If I look in this trophy, I can make my face go all droopy." I demonstrated entertainingly. Remus blinked at me, and then looked pointedly away.

"What is it?" I set the trophy back on its case. It was one of the many McGoogly had forced us to clean ever since the incident with the tree, which really was rather tiresome. I kept meaning to write home to Mother and alert her of the child labour being practiced within the "esteemed" walls of Hogwarts, but then I'd remember that actually, she didn't like me and would probably do nothing at all. So I was forced to keep cleaning trophies, with only Remus for company, who was disapproving at best and thoroughly prickly at worst.

"We have to spend a whole evening doing this, so you may as well not be boring," I told him.

"_I'm _just trying to get the job done, unlike some people I know." A hurt flinch. "And I don't particularly feel like talking to you."

"_Me?_ Why me?"

As he glanced sharply over his shoulder, his eyes glinted amber in the light of the setting sun coming through the castle windows and I reminded uncomfortably of the werewolf-Remus, the fighter, the biter, the savage. It was full-moon soon in exactly four days. Remus kept a calendar next to his bed, and we all watched quietly as the days were crossed off and the square circled in red approached, each of us thinking our own, separate thoughts about the transformation and the aftermath.

"Because you didn't listen." Remus breathed through his nose. "I told you not to, and now look where you've landed us."

I rolled my eyes. "Lighten up Remus, it's only detention." But Remus had turned away again, and I saw it was no use trying to talk to him anymore.

We polished the trophies in silence for the next thirty minutes while the night came on and the rest of the students faded from the corridors. I threw several cunning glances towards Remus to see if he'd notice me, and even dropped a few trophies in case he felt like getting anything off his chest, but he remained stubbornly forward-facing, head bent over the trophy, fingers tight around the polish cloth.

"Remus," I whispered eventually. "I think I'm not real."

"You're definitely real," said Remus without looking up. "Unfortunately," he added.

I tried again. "What's that trophy you've got on the floor there? Aren't you going to polish it?"

"I _have _polished it."

"Oh. Well shall I put it back in for you?"

"No." With a hasty scuffle, Remus bent and snatched it off the floor, and clutched it tightly to his chest.

"Whoa. What's so special about that old thing?"

Remus sniffed. "Oh, nothing. You wouldn't care."

"Give it here." We wrestled briefly with it, and I ended up on the floor with my arms twisted behind my back, and Remus's hot breath on my neck.

"Alright, okay," I panted. "I won't touch your stupid trophy. Just stop using your werewolf powers on me, I'm only a helpless puppy. With beautiful hair."

I felt Remus's weight leave my back, and I hauled myself onto my side to watch him picking up the cup from where it had fallen.

"You don't have beautiful hair." He cleaned the cup carefully with his sleeve. "And you shouldn't have provoked me."

"I can provoke anyone I like," I told him. "Even ghosts. Even the Fat Lady. Even Neville. Even Hippogriffs."

"Please don't go provoking Hippogriffs."

"I'll do whatever I like. I don't care. I'm a rebel who's not afraid of the consequences. What is that old cup you're so much in love with anyway? Does it have your ex-boyfriend's name on it?" I snickered at my lovely funny joke.

"If you must know, I think it's engraved with William Shakespeare's name."

I squinted at him. "Who?"

Remus's eyes widened. "Oh, oh god, Sirius, don't you dare tell me…"

"I'm joking, calm down. So it _has_ got your ex-boyfriend's name on it then."

"Very funny."

"Thank you. But Shakespeare wasn't magical, sorry to burst your bubble."

Remus looked doubtfully at the cup. "Well, it says his name right here."

"Let me see." Holding out my hand, I beckoned for him to hand it over. Reluctantly, Remus complied.

I squinted at the writing. I held it up to my face, turned it upside down, hit it on the side of the cabinet. I bit it. I rubbed it against my crotch. I bit it again. Remus watched me with a vague frown.

"Oh dear," I said finally. "Oh dear, dear, dear."

"What?"

"Oh god. Wow, no way. No, no, no."

"What?" with a quick, agitated movement, Remus snatched the cup from my hands, and held it up to his face. "No, honestly. Look right here." His fingers brushed some small-print on the shiny gold bowl of the cup. Again, I took it from him.

"Oh no. Not at all."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all."

"Well what _does _it say then?"

"It says 'Billiam Rakespeare."

Remus's lip disappeared into his mouth. "It does _not._"

"It does. Honestly, I can tell." I nodded sagely.

For a second, our eyes met across the cup. Remus had his look on. I recognised it, dreaded it for weeks, until finally it came and it was all I could ever do not to court it, to play with it, to _push _it. To push _him. _It was what James called my antagonistic streak, what my mother called my father's influence, and something which I simultaneously hated and relished.

"Let's get a second opinion. McGonagall's office," he said in a low voice. "Now."

"Fine." Humming lightly, I spun the cup on one finger. "Let's go and see her. Let's go and ask. Say 's'cuse me professor, sorry to bother you on this fine evening, but do you perchance know if old Will Shakey happened to attend this school?' Perhaps this was where he met Macbeth."

"He didn't meet Macbeth." Foam looked ready to appear at the corners of his mouth. "Macbeth was a _character._"

"I didn't ask for particulars," I said, turning casually and walking away from him down the corridor, trying to look as a chap might look if he were very nonchalant, without a care in the world. I might have pulled it off too, if that stupid bloody cat hadn't got in the way.

I almost felt as though it was in slow motion. The nonchalant walk turned into a trip, then it turned into a sort of fall, and then bam, before I knew it, I was tumbling down the stairs, and I didn't just stop at one flight either. Sirius Black doesn't do things in half measures. The world became a rush of stone, corners and pain, until I'd completed three whole flights and come to a stop, landing painfully on something sharp, and pointy.

I gingerly felt myself all over. Something could be broken. Dammit, something was broken, I just knew it; nothing could hurt so much and not be broken, after all. I felt my back, my legs, my ribs. My feet too, just in case. I let out a low moan.

Remus's pale face swam into view above me.

"Remus, thank god." I stretched out both my hands. "Help me, I'm dying."

"Sirius, where's the trophy?"

Grumbling, I pulled myself into a sitting position, rubbing my backside with my palm. "What a way to greet a friend who's just fallen down ten flights of stairs. Never mind 'how are you doing Sirius,' or, 'bet that hurt mate;' it's 'where's the trophy Sirius, where's the…'"

Slowly, the truth of the situation dawned on me, and with mounting dread, I rolled over onto my side. Exposing Billiam Rakespeare's trophy, now slightly reduced from its former glory, having been mauled by my buttocks. Remus and I stared at the mangled thing, identical expressions of horror spreading across on our faces.

"Well, what have we here?" The hem of a long, green and purple robe; the sharp clap of heels; the long lace-up boots. There was no doubt. This was our lucky day.

"Professor McGonagall ," I began, "it was an accident, I swear, we…"

"Hand me the cup, Mr Black."

"But I…"

"I said, _hand me the cup._"

A lump forming in my chest, I picked up the thing and placed it in her waiting hand. I caught Remus's terrified glance, and his amber eyes flashed darkly at me. I swallowed.

McGonagall inspected the cup. She squinted it, then at me and Remus, and then at the cup again. Finally, she spoke through thin lips, in a voice quivering with suppressed anger.

"Do you have no respect for anything or anyone in this school? How _dare_ you do this to Billiam Rakespeare's honoured trophy."

I turned to Remus, and smiled weakly. "Told you so," I said.

…

For the second time that week, Remus and I found ourselves seated in McGonagall's office. Remus looked, if he doesn't mind me saying so which I'm sure he would, the epitome of guilt, which was really rather ironic seeing as he hadn't particularly done anything, other than be a bit of a pain in the butt. I told McGonagall so, in the politest of tones.

"Look, old pal."

McGonagall looked. Or rather, she glared. I continued, "Remus didn't really have anything to do with this. He was just hanging around in the background, being, well, Remus-y."

"That may be." McGonagall adjusted her glasses. "Even so, I am adding one week onto your current detentions Remus. However, seeing as you really did appear to have very little to do with the incident itself, I'm letting you go now."

Remus appeared to collapse beside me, a small sigh of relief escaping him. With a quick glance in his direction, I tried give him a grin, but he kept his head bent, his brown hair falling over his eyes.

"Thank you, professor," he mumbled. "I swear, it won't happen again."

"I will escort you back to the common room," said McGonagall. "Just to ensure there are no more… disturbances." She turned to me. "Sirius, I want you to remain here. If you would like a chance to lessen your punishment, you will prove to me that you can in fact be trusted with the property of others, by sitting still and touching nothing." With that, she stood briskly, and chivvied Remus out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, I rocked back on the chair in relief, stretching my legs out in front of me. It would all be okay. The entire situation could be explained with a few simple words, and then we could all exchange laughs at the rather humorous misunderstanding. Oh what fun. I'd prove to her right now that I was trustworthy. I'd show her just how dependable, reliable and steadfast Sirius Black really was. I stood up, and pottered around the office for a bit. After two or three circuits of her desk, I found, propped up on a little stand in the corner of the room, a rather handsome walking stick with a roaring lion poised on the handle. A walking stick for a true Gryffindor. Fancying it was perhaps somewhat like the Sword of Gryffindor, which presented itself to any worthy member of said house, I twirled it about in my fingers like a baton, feeling the smooth cool wood against my hands. I then found a pair of spectacles lying on the desk. They were very smart. I tried them on, glanced at myself in the mirror by the window, and liked what I saw. Combined with the walking stick and a handy wizard's hat I found on the back of a chair, I became the perfect magical gentleman. All I needed now was a moustache.

"Professor McGonagall," I said to the mirror. "I must say you're looking particularly fabulous this evening. I came here to tell you that there's been a terrible mistake. I never meant to break the trophy. I had to prove a point to Remus and it just so happened there were stairs in the way. Could you find it in your heart to forgive an old chum?" I was sure she could, if I remained in this get-up. I was an absolute devil. A devil in a snazzy hat.

Footsteps resounded in the corridor outside. The handle of the door turned, and I turned also, to greet my dear professor with a benevolent smile combined with just a hint of paternal condescension. Her glance, when she stepped into the room, fell firstly to the chair where Sirius model 1.7 had been sitting just a moment ago. I watched her eyes flicker then to the corner behind the desk, where the new, improved, Sirius model 2.0 stood casually, leaning on his walking stick.

It was only a matter of time, I felt, before the memories would come rushing back to her and she'd realise that this handsome, distinguished-looking fellow currently residing in her office was in fact the wild youth she'd found fifteen minutes ago, lying at the bottom of the stairs on a crushed trophy. From boy to man, as one might say.

Her face was certainly one of horror and dismay. I waited patiently until it came to her.

"Sirius," she managed to stutter finally.

I bowed deeply. "Dear lady, it is I."

"Well what in the world are you doing? Didn't I say… but that's – that's my father's walking stick!"

"It felt rather becoming," I protested. This wasn't going in quite the direction I'd expected it to.

McGonagall was looking at me as if I'd gone mad. "What is it you're playing at? Give that to me immediately. And take off my glasses!"

I should have given up the game right then. Apologized. Grovelled, even. But some instinct in me, that screamed in my ear every time I came face to face with a livid professor, called upon me to back away, the walking stick held at arm's length like a sword.

"Black!" McGonagall advanced, her voice ringing shrilly in the small office.

"Aiiee!" was all I could think to respond with. I was in shock. I was panicking. Everything was falling apart. My life was flashing before my eyes. I swung the stick wildly in front of me.

"If you don't put that down now, you're excluded. Nay, you're expelled."

Despite her intentions, it did nothing to calm me down. My vision was blurry because of the glasses. I swung out again, and again, and…

There was a smash. A tinkle of broken glass.

We all froze. I couldn't see, but I knew what had happened. There was a sharp intake of breath from in front of me. .

"Dumbledore's office. Now."

…

**A/N: Hey guys, thanks for reading! Big shout out to kingofpurrsia for the lovely review!**


	6. Chapter Six: Remus

Chapter Six

Remus

…

This week was the week of the Quidditch match, Gryffindor against Slytherin, the first and most highly anticipated game of the season, the one which no on missed, the one which had people fighting in the corridors for the weeks before and the weeks afterwards. It was also the week of my transformation, but that wasn't important.

The match was on Friday. The transformation was two days before. I spent the days leading up to it in the library, trying to avoid everyone. It was one of those weeks; those weeks where you're feeling particularly wolfish and don't really fancy talking to anyone. The person I fancied talking to the least was Sirius, though I couldn't quite pinpoint why. Annoyance had been building up over the first few weeks back at Hogwarts, very slowly, nothing to be alarmed about, but then he'd fallen down the stairs, broken a trophy, and, from what I could gather from his rather hysterical recount of the story, had proceeded to break many of Professor McGonagall's possessions and land himself in three months' worth of detentions with his place on the Quidditch team in jeopardy. It shouldn't have annoyed me. I hadn't even got in trouble. But I couldn't help but grind my teeth at his sheer irresponsibility and idiocy, sending him dark glances across the common room and pointedly closing doors in his face when he was walking behind me. Not that he noticed any of this, being so wrapped up in Kit's little sister, Summer, and for some reason, this annoyed me even more.

So I stayed in the library, and read books and growled at the kids who had stolen my window seat, and didn't talk to anyone until the day before my transformation, the Tuesday, when James, Peter and Sirius arrived in a bundle of dark hair and too many limbs, with hopeful expressions and lolling tongues. Well, the lolling tongue was just Sirius, who was getting ready for the part of the dog for his part in tomorrow night's production of 'Remus grows teeth and develops an insatiable lust for blood.' They piled onto one seat at my table, and all began talking at once.

"Shh, why don't you?" I checked over my shoulder for the librarian. "One at a time please."

"Ooh, listen to Remus getting all official."

"He's been spending too much time with his books again."

"Like we keep telling you Moony, the books aren't your friends."

"I've had many of them disclose to me that they don't even like you."

I rolled my eyes, closed the book I was holding and slid it into my bag before one of them got hold of it and defaced it. "Did you have something worthwhile to say to me or are you just here to be annoying?"

James looked at me blankly. "When did we ever have anything worthwhile to say?"

"We came to talk about the werewolf-ication tonight," said Sirius. "We need a plan and you've been hiding from us all week."

After glancing quickly over my shoulder again, I turned back to them and pursed my lips. "You don't have to come tomorrow, guys. I know you have Quidditch on Friday, and…"

"Shut up Moony," said James, waving the comment away. "Of course we're coming."

"You couldn't leave me," squeaked Peter.

"Course not Pete."

"So it's all on for tomorrow. Same time, same place." The library spun as Sirius cuffed me round the head with an overexcited paw. My balance was never good in the days leading up to the moon. I looked at him, his smiling face fragmented by a grin. _Fragmented by my fist. _It's all on for tomorrow. It's all on for tomorrow.

…

It is a cold, sharp September evening. The darkening twilight promises a crisp, visible moon and a long night filled with small sounds and the endless hum of the last of the summer's insects. Inside the castle, I can hear the sounds of the feast down the corridor, and the sound of people eating and laughing. I even fancy I can hear the sound of light; buzzing and flickering like the insects against the cold window I've got my back against.

The reason why I'm sitting outside the castle on a window ledge watching the dusk instead of spending the evening inside in the Great Hall is not that clear, even to me. It's something I've never been very good at. The whole social thing. I find I'm very amusing in my head; in fact I could probably make myself laugh for hours, but when it comes to people, I'm suddenly not anymore. In fact, I'm "awkward and uptight and wholly unappetising," to quote Sirius. The only thing that I have the guts to respect about myself is the fact that I'm proud, and I don't believe in true love. Pride and cynicism. Those are bad traits, and I know that but I can't help but like them. Without my pride, I wouldn't be able to hold my own against Sirius and James, and without my cynicism, I'd be very unhappy and might have been forced to commit suicide by now. Oh well.

I feel a warm shoulder press against my own, and I look over and Sirius is there, grinning at me. "Enjoying the moonlight?" He asks, and I know straight away that he's in one of _those_ moods.

"If I was enjoying the moonlight, you wouldn't be sitting here right now." I gestured to the sky. "The moon isn't out yet, Sirius." _One hour and fourteen minutes until it is, _I added silently in my head, and Sirius grinned like he knew.

"Sure. So." A bat flickered above our heads like a spinning shadow. "What _are _you doing then?" When I didn't answer, he continued, "you missed the feast."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Huh." He was quiet for a while, and then, with carefully cultured nonchalance, began to kick repeatedly at the dust on the ground at the bottom of the window. _Scuff, scuff, scuff. _I gritted my teeth.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm scuffin'" replied Sirius amiably.

"Right. Well, could you stop please?"

"Oh, sure."

There was silence for a while. Then unmistakably, the _tap, tap_ of fingernails on the glass behind us.

"Sirius."

"What?"

"Would you stop that?"

"It's not me. It's the bat."

"I can see you doing it."

"No you can't."

_Tap, tap. Tap, tap. _

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know what."

"Stop being awesome? Because I can't just turn that on and off, you know Moony."

I know I can't get in a fight with him. It's what he wants, and I like to make a point of never giving him what he wants, even if it's what I want, in which case I just have to go without for the sake of his own unhappiness. While the friendship between James and Sirius is one based on mutual liking, ours is based on mutual misery; it is what we both take delight in inflicting on each other. Hatred. Friendship. I don't know the difference. I want to kill him right now, I really do, and I know it's the werewolf stretching and clawing at the delicate bond between beast and boy, I know it's the hormones and the lack of sleep and heart beating in time to the rise and fall of the ocean, but I can't do it, I can't fight him. I can't give him what he wants.

"I'm going in." I stand abruptly, and begin to walk away from the window ledge, away from Sirius. I hear him jump up behind me, and begin to follow me.

"Where you going Moony?"

"To the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will want me there now."

"I'll come."

"No you won't."

He grabbed my arm then, and I felt the touch surge around my veins like bright light. I knocked his arm away roughly and turned on him with an animal speed, my neck snapping back to face him, and I felt my lips pull back from my teeth and I couldn't stop them. There was a dark manic delight in Sirius's eyes as he backed slowly away from me, and his shoulders were squared; he was facing me with his hands loose by his sides. The position I recognised as his fighting position.

"Come on then, werewolf," he said quietly. "I know you've been wanting to for weeks now. Try me. Come on. Try me."

"Fuck off Sirius," I muttered, my breath coming in gasps. "What the hell do you even want, anyway. Have you got some kind of death wish?"

"I want to break your face. I want to make you angry."

"You just want a fight, so you come looking for the guy who's about to turn into a werewolf. It figures. I know your type Sirius. I know you."

As I said it, I became aware of just how true that was. Sirius's eyes were black frost, the same colour as the sky, the same crazy colour that electricity would be of it was something you could see, and I realised then that the madness within me was in him too. He knew the slam of the door, the emptiness of a meal eaten in silence, the cold feeling of helplessness you got from watching a parent crying behind a half-closed door, and really, weren't those things the same as being ripped apart every month, having yourself turned inside out to expose the monster that clung to the bones underneath your skin? He was the same as me. Out of everyone, he was the one who truly understood what I went through. And I hated him for it.

The blood was roaring in my ears. I couldn't see Sirius anymore; all I could see was blackness. I felt my legs tensed to spring. I waited. I waited for it to happen. The leap, the hit, the fall and the rip, and I knew then that Sirius was doomed. I was stronger than him anyway, bigger, and now, when I was more werewolf that boy, there was nothing that could help him. The boy part, the part that was still Remus, was screaming at me to stop, to leave, to get to the shrieking shack, but the monster had taken over my instincts and any second now, and second, he would spring, teeth bared, and Sirius would be there, black eyes burning, to meet his hands, feet and mouth.

I opened my eyes.

There was nothing there. Sirius was gone. There was just the growing darkness, the breath of the trees, and my own heart, or the thing that passed as it, beating under my thin skin against the ribs of someone that wasn't really me.


End file.
